


Thanksgiving

by twistedchick



Series: Lovers and Other Strangers [4]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen, Immortals, Watchers, domestic holiday dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-18
Updated: 2009-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-03 08:20:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedchick/pseuds/twistedchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan hosts Thanksgiving dinner and gets dumped on his ass; Joe has a new neighbor; Methos is excited about brewing beer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanksgiving

Amanda Darrieux was wearing a hole in the new Oriental rug in Duncan's loft as she paced, back and forth, across the same path in her low-heeled black boots.

"Now, let me get this straight. Mariellen, the waitress at Joe's, is also Milia of DunLaoghaire, someone Rebecca told me was legendary a thousand years ago? And she's the one who just took out Kundry the Defender with one swing of her sword?" Amanda's head shook in confusion. "If this is the kind of thing that happens when I go into legitimate business, I think it's a good thing I waited until now to do it."

"Amanda, just chalk it up to coincidence. You didn't know that the jewelry you appraised for Methos was something Kundry thought was stolen from her." Duncan walked in front of her into the kitchen to set up the coffeemaker. "As for Milia, nobody expects legends to just walk up out of the shadows and come alive -- though I think I'm starting to get used to the idea."

"Oh, Milia is far more legendary than Methos, I suspect," said Adam Pierson, otherwise known as Methos, from a couch. "Amanda, do stop pacing. You're making me seasick."

"Take a Dramamine." Amanda changed course and walked up to Duncan. He tried to ignore her by tinkering with the coffeepot, which seemed to be broken again or else very slow to heat. Amanda was not in a mood to be ignored. "MacLeod, give me one good reason why I shouldn't try to get to know her better."

"Well, for one thing, she is your Watcher." Duncan measured out the coffee and filled the coffeemaker with water. He gave it a wary look and pushed the "brew" button.

Amanda dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand. "That hasn't stopped you and Joe."

"It took a long time for us to start to trust each other, and that was when he'd been watching me for 15 years and knew me pretty well. She's new; she doesn't know that much about you yet even if she has read every Chronicle that exists," Duncan told her. "Besides, you know how full of holes those things are. I haven't told Joe that, because he'd feel honor bound to fill in the gaps, and I really don't like the idea of everything in my life being on the record."

The fourth person in the room, Amanda's friend Millie, spoke up for the first time since the battle on Soldier's Bridge, several hours earlier. "She's a woman of honor; she doesn't want to be thanked for doing what is right."

Amanda wheeled on her. "That's another thing. We've known each other for three centuries now, and you've been holding out on me. You never told me you had a sister. I didn't even know Immortals could have sisters, since we don't seem to have parents."

Millie, on the couch opposite Methos, took a deep breath and let it go slowly. She had been rebraiding her long blonde hair into a precise plait; now she slipped an elastic over it and threw the tail over her shoulder. "It wasn't my secret to share, you know. Besides, how safe would she have been back then, even on holy ground, if it were known that she was my twin sister?"

"Twin? Of course," Amanda said, as if that made everything clear.

Duncan burned his finger on the coffeemaker's suddenly effective heating pad. He sucked on the sore finger, grateful for an excuse not to say anything. He'd guessed there was something between the two women -- besides physical resemblance -- but this was beyond anything he'd thought.

Methos's eyebrows rose. He saluted Millie with the bottle of beer he was drinking. "It seems I was right after all. Immortal twins are possible."

Millie saluted him back with her bottle. "Rare, but possible. You remember the superstitions of the tribes: if there are twins, one is good and one is evil, or one is strong and the other is weak, or both are demonic. Fortunately, the tribe that found us believed in keeping both of us alive if possible. I was strong, and was fostered to the family of a chieftain and wise woman; she was smaller, not as strong, and was given to the holy ones to care for, as they were our doctors as well as the ones who guarded holy ground."

"Ah! That makes sense," Methos said. "In the area where I grew up, only the stronger twin would have been saved, and the other would have been left on the hillside, or traded away to another tribe."

Millie nodded. "The People of Dana -- the Tuatha de Danaan -- were more compassionate than many others. I wish with all my heart they'd survived the passing centuries, but they would never be able to tolerate the world around us now." She fixed one of her direct bluegreen gazes on Methos. His dark eyes widened in return as she spoke.

"You realize, I don't understand about Watchers, and I don't really like what I don't understand. I don't know how you can observe us and be one of us at the same time." She frowned, and Methos held his breath. "Still, if you have found this out by reading those Chronicles you've spoken of, they might actually be useful. You do understand a great deal," she said seriously, "for such a young man."

Duncan coughed. "I think the coffee's ready, if anyone wants it." He poured a cup for Amanda and one for himself; it looked as if it would be a very long night.

"In the Chronicles," Methos said to those amazing aquamarine eyes gazing into his own, "there's considerable confusion about the two of you. I figured out there were two of you when I realized the Watchers had seen you at the same times at totally different locations." He put down his empty beer bottle on the end table. "If I may ask, which of you is Milia?"

"You will, of course, keep this confidential? For her safety, more than my own?" Millie's voice was stern, her face impassive. Methos gulped, and nodded. He really didn't want to fight someone older than he was. Besides, nobody else would figure it out because nobody else knew what to look for. Joe Dawson, the only mortal who knew of the twins, could be trusted. Methos nodded again and hoped to all the gods that he looked sincere.

Millie appeared satisfied; she leaned back and stretched out her legs as she spoke. "In the beginning, I was Milia, the warrior -- I lived and died, and when I came back I was accounted one of the great heroes and treated as such. Some years later, when my sister was forced to leave sanctuary during one of the long wars before history was written down, and died and came back, I was her teacher, and we both shared the name. Later, when I traveled to Cymru, I became Emlyn of Caernarvon."

"That's who she was studying --"

Amanda's voice cut across Methos's reply. "This still doesn't answer my question. All right, she's your twin sister. I don't know how that's possible but I won't argue with the facts. But I would still like to get to know her better, maybe even thank her."

"You can try, but she wouldn't appreciate it." It was Methos this time. "Besides, she saved me as much as you -- it was my neck Kundry was after, because I had what she wanted. Let it go, Amanda. Take her actions as a gift, and be thankful in any way you want, but please don't involve her unless she is willing to be involved. She won't thank you for it."

"Why not?" Amanda worried the questions like a kitten with a ball of string. She perched on a stool by Duncan's kitchen counter, drinking coffee and watching the Eastern sky turn pale. "I don't go around taking heads. I've stopped practicing my trade of thievery. Actually, I've been behaving myself very well for the past decade. How could I hurt her?"

"She is a Watcher. You know how much trouble Joe has been in, just for being Duncan's friend," Methos said. "Just because they've loosened up a bit lately doesn't mean it's really safe for you to go waltzing into Joe's and take her out shopping." He knew there was no keeping this secret under wraps, but if it could be confined to the four of them in the room it might work out. Millie had been keeping her sister's secret from one direction for centuries; he himself was bound to keep it from the other by virtue of his Watcher oath, which he did take as seriously as he took anything other than his own survival. Duncan could be trusted, and so could Amanda, but she needed to realize the risks.

Millie gazed meditatively at Amanda, as if trying to read her thoughts. "My sister lives very quietly. She always has. She's not one of us who go out conquering the world, or at least the Caribbean. You would do her no favor to seek her out; it would only point out to other Immortals that she exists. We have lived a long time by staying out of that kind of light."

"How long?" Amanda asked. She looked from Millie to Methos. "More than five thousand years?" Her dark eyes widened.

Both of them nodded. "I am a mere child next to her," Methos said.

Millie smiled at him. "Hardly. You're not a mere anything. However, in terms of years you're correct. I saw Newgrange rise, and Novgorod, and the standing stones at Tara. My first death was in battle with a people so ancient they are not recorded in anyone's legends. Since then I have lived as I can and as I wish, actively and in the light as much as possible in the old days, less so now." She sipped the bottle of stout, lifted it and surveyed it with a measuring eye. "Hmm. If I adjusted the hops on this, I think I could come up with a decent brew."

"A decent brew? Lady, that is Guinness, and not even export Guinness." Methos was on the edge of his couch with excitement. "You know how to brew beer?"

"Beer, mead, heather ale, all the old drinks. It's been a while, but doubtless the ability is still there." She took another drink. "Not bad for a modern concoction, but I could improve it."

"I think we're straying from the subject," Amanda interjected. "I know you've lived an active life, Millie; we've done a fair amount of it together at times. What about your sister?"

"I don't know much of her modern life the last thousand years or so," Millie admitted, "but it has been very quiet. You see, with us it is as it is with most twins: some abilities fall more to one than the other. To me came the willingness to seek adventure, to fight, to travel this world and take my chances in it. From the start she was raised on holy ground, in a place so old that the Druids recognized it as sanctuary when they arrived on Eire nine centuries before the Christ. She is a scholar, a writer; she has been a merchant and a Christian nun, possibly even a Buddhist nun; I know she has traveled widely. She is not ordinarily a fighter unless forced to the battle, and then she is -- very effective." Millie's lips twitched into a smile. "I did not receive all the talent in that area."

"And she's a Watcher. Your Watcher," Methos said again. "Just because Duncan and Joe have become friends does not mean Mariellen will want to come out of the shadows for you. It also doesn't mean that she won't want to talk to you. Just don't do anything hasty that will endanger her, please. I would be very upset if anything happens to her."

"I'm not sure I want to know what happens when you get upset," Amanda conceded.

"It's not a pretty sight," Duncan said. "I'd avoid it if I were you."

***

"Did you know I was going crazy trying to figure out where you'd gone?" Duncan asked Amanda, a few hours later. Methos had offered to drive Millie home, and she had accepted; they had been discussing the more arcane points of beer brewing as they left. Duncan and Amanda had curled up together on a couch to watch the sunrise and were still there.

She turned to look in his eyes. "You really were worried, weren't you? Well, if you'd listen to your answering machine more often, you wouldn't have been. I left a message four days ago that I would have to go out of town for a couple of days. Didn't it ever occur to you to listen to it?"

"I don't believe it." Duncan got to his feet and went over to the answering machine. Sure enough, it had several calls on it that he must have missed. The indicator light was dim; the "low battery" light was brighter. He punched the replay button. The very first message was hers.

"Duncan, it's me. I'm going to have to go down to San Francisco for a couple of days really soon. Would you like me to bring back anything for you? Let me know. I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon. Bye."

He shut the machine off; he'd listen to the other messages later. And he'd buy new batteries for that damned modern inconvenience today.

"I'm sorry. You did leave a message; if I'd listened I wouldn't have been running around like an idiot trying to find you before Kundry did." He settled himself back on the couch with her. "Forgive me?"

She never could resist him when he wore that puppydog expression. "All right. You're forgiven. You'd probably better apologize to Adam and Millie, if you got them into this great search as well."

"I will." He pulled her close into his arms, where he could keep an eye on her. "So, what was so interesting in San Francisco?"

"An exhibit of ancient jewelry. You'd be proud of me, Duncan, I didn't steal any of it. I did buy a good copy of one piece, but I can show you the sales slip -- and it is the copy, I didn't exchange the real one for it." She wriggled a little closer to him and nestled her head on his broad shoulder. "So now I have to find a way to thank someone for saving my life whose own life might be endangered if I thank her? That's a puzzle."

Duncan nodded, and kissed her forehead. "In more ways than one. The Watchers are letting Joe get away with a lot these days; I don't think they'd be so lenient with anyone else. In the past they executed Watchers who came into contact with the Immortals they were assigned to, according to Methos. I think you'll have to wait on this one and see what happens."

Amanda sighed. "I guess so. The thing is, it irks me that I can't tell her how much it meant to me. It leaves me feeling obligated to her. You're not the only one with an uncomfortable sense of honor, MacLeod."

"I never said I was." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Still, I think our definitions of honor are slightly different."

"To me, it means that if I can't repay a debt I have to at least acknowledge it to the person who has aided me, and ask what I can do in return. I think your honor has more to do with chivalry."

"Probably. Such as not taking a lady's head if I can avoid it." He kissed her gently.

She looked out at the sunshine on the water of the Pacific, blinking at her over the roofs of buildings. "I know I can't repay this debt with a gift; even if I stole the Vatican jewels it wouldn't be enough." She put her fingers on his lips to silence him. He kissed them. "Besides, it wouldn't be worth my time; they're all fake now anyway. Some previous pope sold the real ones to buy food during a famine. I can't complain; it kept me alive too, but the real ones were far prettier than the paste copies."

"Maybe you can find a way to do her a favor sometime." "Maybe."

"Maybe you could do me a favor sometime sooner."

"Such as?"

"Oh, come to bed, Amanda, I'm really getting tired of waiting for your mainspring to wind down."

"What an old-fashioned thing to say, Duncan. Let's see if I can wind your mainspring up a little and set you to ticking a bit faster."

***

"Joe, could I talk to you for a moment?"

Joe Dawson looked up from the bar receipts he was balancing. Mike stood before him, looking apologetic for the interruption. "Sure, Mike, have a seat. What is it? Do you want to take some days off for the holidays? I can juggle the schedule for you if you want."

Big Mike shook his head. "It's not that, boss. I wanted to let you know I've sent in my request for retirement to Watcher Central. I've been working as a Watcher for 35 years now."

It took a moment to register. "You're retiring? Congratulations. What are you planning to do?"

"Travel some, maybe go back East for a while and visit some friends. Thing is, that leaves you with nobody to help keep the place going right at the holidays. I feel bad about that, but I really would like to leave soon and spend Thanksgiving with my family, what's left of them."

"Mike, I can't count the times you've taken over for me on short notice. Don't worry about a thing. You let me know when your last day is and we'll have a party, if you like."

The big man shook his head. "No need for that. I'm a fairly private sort of guy, you know. Are you sure you can find someone to take over?"

Joe gestured expansively. "I shouldn't have too much trouble. However, if you have someone in mind that you'd like to recommend, I'll be willing to talk to them. You know the unique nature of our clientele here; we need someone who isn't bothered by the presence of Immortals."

"Yeah. I'll think about it."

"By the way, who's taking over Watching Richie Ryan?"

"I don't know. I've heard they're bringing someone else out of Research to do it. Hope it's someone with a lot of energy; that kid doesn't hold still very much." Mike stood up to leave.

"Thanks, Joe. I really appreciate this. I'll get the order in now for the liqueurs for the Christmas crowd."

"Fine, fine." As soon as Mike left, Joe's shoulders slumped. Where was he going to find someone as capable -- and tolerant -- as Mike on short notice? He'd been Joe's strong right arm for five years; he'd served as bartender, bouncer, and even as cook when Terry got the flu last winter. He'd kept his own counsel about Joe's friendships with Duncan, Amanda and the other Immortals, and had never let Watcher Central tell him how to do his job.

Replacing Mike looked close to impossible.

Well, who did he know that might want to help run a good blues club, and that might be good at it? Regardless of his likes or dislikes, it would probably have to be a Watcher; he was sure Watcher Central wouldn't allow anything else, since they'd sunk the money to buy the club for him in the first place. They sure as hell wouldn't want a known Immortal working there -- that let out young Richie Ryan, who was proving to have very good business sense, and who was "legally" more than 21 years old and had the birth certificate to prove it. Unfortunately, he'd always look as if he'd just turned 19, which would be a problem if he were to be put into such a visible position. He also didn't look like a bouncer, though his skills at the job were more than adequate.

Would Richie's new Watcher be appropriate? Joe hoped it wouldn't be one of those paranoid types he'd had to deal with in the past, who tried to keep themselves separate as if Immortals carried the black plague. The Immortals hadn't liked being treated like specimens under a high-powered microscope, and the Watchers' remoteness had resulted in the renegade Hunters who worked with Horton to kill all Immortals because they were "evil." What rubbish.

Joe already had two Watchers working there part-time: Mariellen Smithe, who watched Amanda, and Adam Pierson, who did everything and did it well. Both of them shared the same kind of double life, as both Watchers and Immortals, and had managed to balance on that hazardous tightrope for many years. He didn't think either one would want to be manager; the job would be too public for them as well, though they looked older than Richie. Adam looked as if he were in his mid-30s and holding, Mariellen looked a few years older.

So. He needed someone who could be trusted to be discreet, to use good judgment, to be responsible both to him and to his Watcher superiors without endangering Mariellen or Adam. Someone who would not be spooked by the presence of Immortals, but who would be unable to detect them by their signature "buzz" as other Immortals did. He needed a bloody miracle.

***

"C'mon, don't we have a lot to be thankful for this year? Why not have a Thanksgiving party?" Richie glowed with enthusiasm. He'd arrived at Duncan's loft just in time for lunch on Saturday, but seemed so full of this new idea that there'd be no room for the chocolate cake. "We're all still here, we're all in the same city for a change, we can all cook. We could do potluck, each of us bring something. It would be great."

"Sounds good to me," Amanda said. She toyed with the last bite of her cake, licking the frosting off the back of the fork. "Where would you want to hold it?"

"Well, Duncan has the largest apartment."

Duncan looked around at the loft apartment, at the rugs glowing with jewel colors, the comfortable leather couches, the antique desks and tables, the new mirrors and windows, the newly installed fireplace. "Richie, it's just been renovated. Will you promise me nothing will happen?"

Richie threw up his hands. "I'll do all the cleaning myself. Honest. I'll make sure everything is fine. I'll even make sure there's no beheadings upstairs. How's that?"

"How will you do that?" Amanda's eyebrows rose. Duncan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, trying to look stern.

"Shove the combatants into the elevator. That's not interfering, is it? It's just relocating the fight."

Amanda started laughing. "Oh, wonderful. Then the beheadings can take place on the dojo floor."

"Which was just refinished and polished." Duncan tried to sound grumpy, but it didn't work. He never could resist Richie's bright ideas. "All right. How many people?"

"Well, let's see. There's you two, me and Sharlie --"

"You and who? I thought her name was Ellen." Amanda put her fork down.

"Sharlene. Ellen and I broke up two months ago, just before I went to Nevada for that bike race. I think you'd like her, Amanda. She's interested in lots of things: she makes silver jewelry, she studies martial arts, she's got a degree in the philosophy of religion from some big Eastern university."

"She sounds too good for you, Rich." Duncan grinned, teasing the young man he considered his son. Richie's face glowed with happiness. "She is, but she loves me. Amazing, isn't it?"

"Totally. She sounds like a very interesting woman." Amanda gathered up her plates and took them to the kitchen sink, running her fingers through Richie's hair on the way back to the table. "So now you want to introduce her to the family, as it were. Does she know about us?"

"Well, sort of. Not exactly." Richie hedged. "I haven't told her everything. She knows I don't look my age, but she doesn't know about the Game."

"Well, give us some idea what she knows the day before or so, so we'll be able to behave ourselves appropriately." Duncan cast a glance at Amanda, who countered by smacking him on the head with a rolled-up newspaper.

"I always behave appropriately, and you should know that, MacLeod." She dodged his return smack and perched on the edge of an armchair. "So, who else do you want to invite?"

"Methos, of course, and Millie. They're spending a lot of time together." Richie shook his head. "Man, I wish I'd been here to see that battle between her and Kundry a couple of weeks ago. It must have been something."

"It was." Amanda sipped the last of her wine to keep from saying anything more, such as the fact that Millie hadn't fought in that battle at all. Those Immortals who'd been present had agreed to the fiction to keep Mariellen's Immortality secret, as she wasn't a strong fighter and might not survive a steady string of headhunters. Normally this would be out of the question -- Immortals took part in the Game, and no one interfered -- but they all made exceptions for her, as she was one of the two oldest remaining Immortals. Millie, her twin sister, was the other. The elevator hummed quietly in the background.

"Who else?" Duncan asked, with an eye on Amanda. If she was too quiet, trouble brewed, he was sure of it.

"Well, do you think Joe would come?"

The elevator door swung open. "I think he'd be honored." Joe walked in, carrying a square box tied with string. "We hosted a wedding reception today, and they had a lot of leftover Italian cookies from their cookie cake, so I thought you might like some." He handed the box to Amanda, who kissed him on the cheek and went to put some of the cookies out on a plate. "So, what am I being invited to?"

"Thanksgiving dinner, potluck. If you can make it, that is." Duncan said. "We're making up the guest list now. Anyone you'd like to add?" He had a pretty good idea who Joe would add; he'd have had to be blind the past month not to notice Joe lighting up just like Richie did, when a certain woman walked by at the club.

"I'd like to invite Mariellen. I don't think she has anywhere to go, and I don't like to see people staying alone over the holidays," Joe said, with a trace of caution in his voice. "Would that be all right?"

"Is she okay around Immortals? Does she know about us or is she one of those people who'll freak out if a carving knife slips and the wound heals miraculously?" Richie was a little concerned. He figured he could brief Sharlene enough that she wouldn't be spooked, but this Mariellen person was an unknown. He hadn't been at Joe's when she was working.

Amanda was the first to smile, though she hid it well behind an almond cookie. Duncan got up, under the pretence of clearing his plates and Richie's, so his own expression would be hidden.

"I don't think she's going to be terribly bothered," Joe said calmly, waiting for Richie's reaction. "She's a lot like Adam."

"Another of you? Oh, man, are you guys taking over the city or something?" Richie knew he should have expected something like this, but it still surprised him. "How can you people keep on being the longest-running secret organization when we can't move without tripping over you? Just kidding, just kidding. If she's a friend of yours, Joe, that's good enough for me."

Then Joe's words sank in, and Richie's jaw dropped. "Wait a minute. She's Immortal too? Man, this is getting complicated."

"You're telling me," Joe said. "She's hidden out on holy ground most of her life, so she hasn't been in the Game much." He took a cookie from the plate on the table and bit into it. "Hmm, I'm going have to try this bakery more often."

"So I shouldn't ask her to the dojo to practice, I guess," Richie said cautiously. He wasn't sure what the look on Joe's face meant, but he knew it was something important.

"I wouldn't ask, at this point. She's been keeping a pretty low profile for longer than I've been around," Duncan said.

Joe and Duncan exchanged glances that agreed not to mention just who Mariellen was watching, at least not while Richie was there. Amanda slid into the chair, curled her legs under herself and picked up a pen and paper from the side table.

"Let's see, that's eight people." She started writing names down the side of the paper and categories of food across the top. "We'd need one or two people to bring appetizers; four people to deal with the main course, whether it's one or two kinds of meat and casseroles or whatever, with lots of vegetables; two for dessert and drinks. We could divide it up as couples, or we could have people figure out individually what they'd like to make and just add up the numbers. I can make appetizers or help with the main course or do desserts, so I'll choose last." She looked up. "It would be really nice if people could make some of their old favorite foods, the kind they don't eat every day."

"None of that homemade whiskey, please, MacLeod," Joe requested. "Old favorite food or not, I'd like to enjoy my dinner."

"Now, it wasn't that bad, Joe. Anyway, I hope to surprise you all with my new hobby."

"What's that? Did you go ahead with the drum lessons?"

"Drum lessons? Heaven forbid!" Amanda exclaimed. "Duncan, if you start playing drums, you won't see me again for two centuries. I mean it! I can take almost anything else, but I draw the line at a drum kit."

"You have no faith in me, any of you," Duncan complained. "Not even a little snare drum?"

"Not even a tambourine, dear." Amanda blew him a kiss.

"Well, it's not drums, anyway," he replied.

Richie laughed. "Well, I for one will be glad to see what your latest interest is, Duncan. I've got to get going; Sharlene and I are going to listen to a lecture on comparative religions."

"Isn't that a little highbrow for you?" Joe asked.

"It's true love," Amanda said in a stage whisper.

Richie ignored them. "See you all later." He headed for the stairs. "I'll let you know what Sharlene and I will bring." "New girlfriend," Duncan explained. Joe thought he sounded just like a tolerant parent watching a teen-ager head out to the prom, but knew he'd never get away with saying it.

"Not the hotdog casserole," Amanda called after Richie, and was rewarded with a wave of his hand as he went through the door. She leaned forward to take Joe's hand briefly, then released it. Her touch was cool on his skin; Mariellen's burned. "Joe, I haven't forgotten how much you bent the rules for me when Kundry came to town. How can I thank you?"

"Me? Bending rules?" Joe looked around as if someone were standing behind him. "You must be thinking of somebody else."

"No, I'm not. It was sweet of you to send Mariellen after Methos, and then to come and warn me so I'd be prepared for Kundry. I'm very grateful." She smiled at him sweetly, with a sudden wink at the end of it. He didn't point out that the intervention hadn't been his idea.

"Oh? How grateful?" He'd long ago learned to flirt back when Amanda flirted; it was fun, and Duncan knew her well enough to know it wasn't something to worry about.

She leaned close and whispered in his ear, just loudly enough for Duncan to overhear. "Well, if you like, I could manage to give you something far more interesting to watch than he could."

"I'll take that under consideration," Joe said, grinning.

"If it's that harem dance you tried to do in Istanbul, I think you'd better get some practice in first," Duncan advised. "The last time it nearly got both of us killed."

"What do you mean?" she retorted. "You were never in danger."

"That hot coffee you spilled on me when you tripped wasn't pleasant, and neither was the arrow in the ass I got when I rescued you from that dungeon."

"You didn't mind when I kissed it and made it feel better."

"I think I'd better leave," Joe said. "The Watchers really don't need me to watch everything."

Amanda rose and picked up her jacket. "Duncan, I think I'm going to go down to the early show at the theater. Do you want to come along or shall I meet you later?"

"Later, at Joe's." The tall Scotsman kissed her and she waved to Joe and left. "See you then."

"Actually, I hope I can relax by then," Joe told Duncan. "Mike's just told me he's retiring, and I'll have to come up with someone else really fast. He's leaving before the holidays. I can close the club for Thanksgiving Day, but I don't want to do it for longer than that."

"That's rough. It's not like you can just hire anyone who walks in off the street." Duncan was sympathetic. Joe's club had become a haven for Immortals in the Seacouver area; though not holy ground it was treated as neutral, and enemies who met there would take their battles elsewhere. He hoped this wouldn't change with the new barkeep and assistant manager, whoever it turned out to be.

***

Where to find a new bartender, bouncer and all-around trustworthy person? Joe felt as if he'd been beating his head on this brick wall for days, with no result except headaches. That would be hard enough to do even without the extra requirements set by Watcher Central.

Watcher Regional, however, had finally begun to take a more lenient view of Joe's unorthodox methods. The letter he'd received last week from Nolan, the regional supervisor, said as much.

"The experiment of allowing Watchers to talk to and even associate with Immortals, which has been conducted in your jurisdiction, has resulted in fewer Watcher deaths and a greater understanding of the truths of Immortals' lives. It has also resulted in the necessary weeding out of those former Watchers who went so far in violating their oaths that they took it upon themselves to kill the Immortals they had been trusted with observing.

"For many centuries, the purpose of the Watchers has been to seek the truth about Immortals. This experiment has proven a truth we had guessed -- good Immortals exist as well as evil ones, just as with mortals. The value of associating with the good far outweighs the chance of contamination of Watcher ethics. The Immortal Duncan MacLeod, for one, has been helpful beyond expectation in dealing with the Hunters, and with certain other problems that have occurred involving Watchers at various times. Although the Watchers Organization cannot show its appreciation directly to Mr. MacLeod, we officially support your continued association with him and others like him -- as long as it is not to the detriment of the Watchers, and as long as this experiment is confined to your region alone."

That made him feel better about inviting Mariellen to the Thanksgiving dinner. It wouldn't put her on the hot seat with Watcher Regional, for one thing. If Amanda wanted to talk to her, or if Richie wanted to ask her to spar with him, she would be free to respond without regard to anything other than her own wishes.

Mariellen's wishes were becoming more important to Joe than he'd thought possible. He wanted to ask her to move in with him. They'd been seeing each other after work and on weekends for more than a month; he wanted more but he hesitated to ask in case she would say no. She'd indicated more than once that her independence was precious to her; he didn't want her to feel hemmed in by him or his desires. It had been a long time since he'd felt this strongly about any woman. He didn't want to take the chance that she'd reject him. Maybe by the time he could find someone to fill the empty job, he'd be able to figure out what to say to her.

As he left his house to go to the club, he noticed that the "For Sale" sign on the small house next door had been taken down. He hoped the new buyer would be friendly; the last neighbor there had been Mrs. Lewis, a pleasant elderly woman with two cats. The cats would wander over through the small picket fence to sit on his lap in the summers when he was sitting on the back porch; their owner would sometimes follow, with a plateful of brownies or a few slices of sour-cream coffee cake. They'd become solid acquaintances, if not friends. She'd told him she was moving in with her daughter and grandchildren, somewhere in California. He hoped she'd be happy there, but he knew he'd miss her company, as well as the rich purring of her cats, telling him they approved of him as a human without regard to the length of his legs, the gray in his beard or the ages of his friends.

***

"Excuse me, but you're holding your katana wrong."

The unexpected voice behind him made Duncan falter in his kata. He broke off the exercise and turned to face the newcomer standing just inside the dojo's doorway. She was small, young, with straight reddish hair and smoky topaz eyes. She wore a backpack, with a blue sweatshirt draped over it, a t-shirt and jeans, and old sneakers.

"What?"

"You should separate your hands on the grip, not hold it like a baseball bat or a golf club. If you keep your hands together it's too easy for your opponent to knock your blade aside and get past it." She gestured to a rack of practice katanas. "May I show you?"

"By all means." Nobody'd spoken to Duncan like this in centuries; he was intrigued. He'd have been more than intrigued if he didn't expect Amanda to arrive back any minute.

The redhead dropped a backpack by the wall and put her sweatshirt on top of it. Her t-shirt and jeans were comfortably loose, and her arm muscles looked as if she knew how to use a weight bench. She chose a practice sword that looked about the same length and weight as Duncan's katana, and moved onto the mat.

"See -- here's the difference. Come at me with your blade -- don't worry, you won't hurt me -- and notice how I react."

Duncan obliged her, but moved extremely cautiously so that she wouldn't get as much as a nick from his blade. She frowned.

"You're patronizing me. Try again, and don't hold back so much."

"All right." He let his blade swing more freely this time, and found her blocking his movements no matter where he went. He speeded up, and she moved in past his blade to stop with the point of her sword over his heart. He blinked.

"Show me what you did," he asked, with more humility than usual in his voice. "Please."

She demonstrated slowly, then speeded up to his own pace. He tried the maneuver on her, and found it blocked by another combination of moves he'd never seen before. He countered with one of his reversed-sword defenses to get closer inside her guard, and stopped with her blade resting on his shoulder at the base of his neck.

His heart beat too fast; it always did at times like this. Who was she? She couldn't be an Immortal; he felt no buzz, no song from her. Yet who else would have the skills to disarm him?

She backed up a couple of steps and dropped the sword, watching him. As his heartrate slowed, he bowed to her, his sword between his hands. "Thank you for the lesson," he said in Japanese.

"You are most welcome," she replied, also in Japanese. She replaced the practice katana on its rack, put on her sweatshirt and picked up her backpack. In English, she said, "I'm looking for Duncan MacLeod."

"You've found him. And your name is --"

"Sharlene Olson. Richie Ryan invited me to Thanksgiving dinner here, and I wanted to talk to you about what I could bring."

"You'd be better off talking to Amanda about that. I expect her back any minute. Tell me, where did you learn to wield a katana like that?"

"In Japan. My father was in the military; we lived there when I was a child, and I studied martial arts there for many years." She eyed him critically. "You are good, you know. That problem with the baseball grip was the only one I saw. Have you talked to your teacher about it?"

"My teacher died a few years ago," Duncan said.

"I'm sorry." She made a small formal bow of apology, which he accepted with another bow.

"Sharlie! I didn't expect you'd get here before I did. Have you met Duncan yet?" Amanda came in, all excitement. "Richie introduced us the other day when I was leaving the office," she explained to Duncan. "I've just found the most wonderful shop with ingredients I didn't even think existed on this continent. Now I know what I'm going to cook for the dinner."

"I think we've met," Duncan said. "She showed me a better sword grip, and disarmed me in demonstrating it."

Amanda's jaw dropped. "Disarmed you? I'd like to see that. Sharlie, what do you and Richie want to bring to the dinner? He's not going to make that awful hotdog casserole again, is he?" "Not if I'm eating with him." Sharlene's eyes twinkled. "Where can we go to discuss it?"

"Duncan, we're going upstairs for a while. I want to show her the kitchen," Amanda said. "Come on up whenever you finish." They took the elevator, the mild hum of the machinery almost obscuring their voices.

Duncan started his exercises over again, using Sharlene's grip on the katana. When he finished, he practiced her moves over again until he was sure of them, then relaxed for a few minutes in the men's locker room under the hottest shower he could tolerate. He kept a locker of spare clothes available for times when he wasn't sure whether he'd be able to use the upstairs shower without provoking comments from Amanda. It wasn't that he minded the comments; he sometimes looked forward to them, but not in front of newcomers.

When he went upstairs, he found Amanda and Sharlene on the couch next to each other, plotting out the dinner like generals planning an invasion.

"Let's see. We're going to eat at about 2 p.m.; that means you can come over and use the oven from about 1:30 onward if you need it." Amanda was writing things down on her pad of paper again.

"That's good. I'll want the broiler for a little while for the angels on horseback; some of the other appetizers can go under the flame for just a second, that's all. Is there anything you'd like me to help with?" Sharlene looked up as Duncan walked in. "I think I owe you an apology. I shouldn't have jumped in to correct you like that. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Duncan told her. He sat on the back of the couch opposite the women and smiled at both of them. "It's been a long time since anyone has been able to show me something I didn't know how to do with a katana, and I'm grateful. May I ask where you learned those moves?"

Sharlene named the three most highly regarded dojos in Japan. "I started very young," she said, almost apologetically. "When I was about six, we lived next door to a Shinto shrine, and the priests who cared for it would let me play there as long as I didn't harm anything. One of the priests was the sensei at the local dojo. He taught me aikido and kendo, and started me on the katana and wakizashi as soon as I was tall enough to hold them. When I had learned everything he could teach me, he recommended me to his own teachers."

"That's remarkable, considering Japanese society's attitude toward Western women, even women fighters," Amanda said.

"Not as remarkable as you might think. I had grown up in that society; in all respects except appearance I was Japanese. I understood the limitations that were put around me, and worked very hard to surpass them."

"And did you?" Duncan had no doubt of her answer.

She nodded. "I was offered the position of swordmaster under my sensei, but I wanted to see more of the world, so he gave me his blessing and certified me to teach outside Japan."

"So how did you meet Richie?" Amanda asked.

"He was practicing a kata with a rapier in an empty warehouse down by the docks; I was walking my neighbor's dog and happened to go by and see him. I hadn't thought there was anyone in Seacouver who knew that kind of swordfighting, or who was that interested in precision training and kata, so I waited until he was done and went in to talk to him." She smiled at the memory. "He was surprised, I think, to find out that I wasn't frightened of swords, and invited me to bring my own sword the next time, so I did."

"You'd be amazed how many people around here like to keep fit by using a sword," Amanda said. "Several of them practice regularly at the dojo downstairs."

"So I noticed. May I come here sometimes, Mr. MacLeod?"

"Duncan, please. And yes, I'd be honored to have you here whenever you like. Would you like to teach a class? I'd be glad to have another teacher here; I've been the only one teaching swordfighting for some time, and I'd like to have more variety in the classes we offer than what I can provide."

"I'll think about it." Sharlene rose from the couch and held out a hand toward Duncan. "It's been good to meet you," she said as they shook hands. "Amanda, do stop by the next time you're over near my place -- I'll show you some of the jewelry I'm working on."

"That would be wonderful. Thank you," Amanda said. "You know, I think the best way you could help with this dinner would be to keep Richie from bringing anyting inedible."

"You mean his famous bachelor special -- hotdog and cheese casserole with chili sauce, pickles and garlic?" Both women shuddered. "I think I can promise he won't commit that one for Thanksgiving dinner. How about if you put him down to bring salads? I'll make sure it doesn't turn out to be iceberg lettuce and cheap Thousand Island dressing."

"Wonderful." Amanda scribbled enthusiastically. She pulled a card from her pocket and wrote something on it. "Here's my phone numbers if you need to contact me for anything, or if you want to just get together."

"Thanks." Sharlene bowed to both of them, shouldered her backpack and left.

"That's a remarkable woman," Duncan said. "Do you know, she really did disarm me -- twice -- and the second time she had the sword at my neck without my knowing how she did it. She showed me the moves, and they're ones I've never seen before."

"I wonder where she found the time for that philosophy degree," Amanda said. "She's certainly not going to be a bore. And with all this, she's not even an Immortal."

"Or someone who will be an Immortal later on," Duncan said. "Does Richie have any idea how fortunate he is?"

Amanda smiled. "Oh, I think so. He's also fortunate that I'm here, so you won't go chasing after her and cause all sorts of problems for him."

"Amanda! As if I'd do that!"

"Now, MacLeod, you know very well that if a pretty woman walks past, especially one who's better at something than you are, you'll follow her to the ends of the earth. You're very persistent."

"Yes, I am." He pulled her to her feet and slipped his arms around her. "I've found this woman who's the most wonderful cat burglar, and actress, and three-star chef, and I've followed her all around the world for years." He kissed her, a kiss that started to turn into something more.

"Flatterer. You didn't follow me; I followed you, and it took 60 years to get your attention." She kissed him back. "You just want me to cook dinner tonight."

"Maybe later. I was thinking of appetizers first." He started to walk her toward the rear of the loft, where the big bed lay invitingly open.

"Now, that sounds as if it could be interesting. What did you have in mind?"

***

"So, Amanda wants to get to know me better? I was afraid this would happen," Mariellen leaned on one elbow in bed, looking across at Joe, next to her. "I probably should have expected it. What will this do to my position with the Watchers?"

"Emmy, hon, it won't do anything. You saw the letter from Watcher Regional. I told her it was up to you, entirely your option, and she'll respect that." Joe's hand lay gently on Mariellen's shoulder. He felt the muscles tense under his touch. "You're tightening up again; roll over and I'll rub your back."

"Thanks." She lay down on her stomach with her face turned toward him, brushed her hair out of the way and concentrated on feeling the touch of his hands on her shoulders and back.

"Why does this situation with Amanda make you so uncomfortable? Did you think she wouldn't notice when you stepped in front of Adam and took Kundry's head on Soldier's Bridge?"

"Well, it did blow my cover rather dramatically, you have to admit."

"But only in front of people who either knew beforehand or else could be trusted: Millie, Methos, Duncan. You don't have any trouble with any of them knowing; why draw the line at Amanda?"

Mariellen frowned. "I don't know. Maybe the indoctrination with Watcher Ethics has gone deeper than I want to think about. Millie has always known. Methos is in exactly the same boat that I'm in; he won't say a word for his own protection. Duncan and you have been friends for years and Watcher Central has even learned to tolerate it. I guess I wanted to really be a Watcher, to live in the shadows and see what Immortals are like from the mortal human viewpoint. It's a new experience."

"As far as Nolan is concerned at Regional, what you do with her is your business. I see it as freeing you to do what you wish, without regard for the Watchers."

She shook her head slowly. "It's not that easy. I wish it were."

"You're afraid that if you get too close to Amanda you'll get caught up in her life?"

"It's partly that. I envy her, you know. She's so strong and so certain of what she is, what she wants, what she can do."

"So are you." He stopped the backrub and pulled her close to him. There were certain advantages, he'd found, to having a lover whose Immortal side emerged when she felt passionate. "I've always found Milia of DunLaoghaire very clear on what she wants."

Mariellen chuckled quietly. "Yes, she is. I am. But I'll still have to think about this. The other part of it, you see, is that while I'm always your Emmy," she kissed him gently, "I'm not always Milia. I'm usually Mariellen, and if I'm going to be able to keep these different personas straight, I can't go jumping from one to the other."

Joe stopped himself from pleading Amanda's case any further, but it took some effort. "Will you come to the Thanksgiving dinner anyway?" he asked.

"Yes, I'd like that. It's been a long time since I shared a common meal for a harvest festival. Do you think they'd like it if I baked bread for the dinner?"

"If they don't like it, I'll eat it all." He watched her eyes turn darker, and leaned in to kiss her. All thoughts of asking anything else, even of asking her to move in with him, melted away.

***

"MacLeod? Is that you up there? What is that noise?" Methos stood on the stairs at the door to the loft, wondering what he was hearing. It sounded like a peculiar clarinet with almost no range.

The sound, whatever it was, stopped. "Methos? Come on in." Duncan greeted him. "I'm out of beer again."

"No, you're not. I brought some of the homebrew Millie and I have been working on." He handed Duncan the paper bag he carried; it held half a dozen bottles, three dark and three lighter. "Thought you might like a sample."

"I think you're just in time for lunch." Duncan tossed Methos the bottle opener. "Are sandwiches okay?"

"Fine. What was that noise I heard? It sounded extremely odd." Methos paused with his hand on the bottles. "Light or dark, for the first one?"

"Light. I'll have dark for dessert."

Methos shook his head and grinned. "A man after my own heart. Here you are. You didn't say what the noise was."

Duncan handed him a plate of ham and cheese sandwiches, and the two of them sat down at the kitchen counter to eat. "No, I didn't." He watched the other man's eyebrows rise. "You know, if you keep doing that you'll get wrinkles. You'll have a forehead like a washboard."

"If I haven't gotten wrinkles in five thousand years, I don't think I'll get them. The noise, MacLeod. What was it?" He took a bite of his sandwich, swallowed, and paused. "This isn't something to do with this new hobby of yours, is it?"

"I really can't say." Duncan's face looked bland, but his voice betrayed him with a touch of Scottish burr. He took a first sip of the beer. "Oh, this is really good beer. Whatever you're doing, it works."

"Wait until you taste the stout. Millie's right; it's better than Guinness. I'm still trying to figure out what she does that's different, but I don't have to know her secret to know that it works."

"Had you thought of bringing some of this fine homebrew for the party?" Duncan was truly impressed. He hadn't had this kind of beer in a century or so, and until now hadn't realized how much he missed it.

Methos nodded. "Millie's bringing that. I've thought of bringing desserts. What would you say to a truly Dickensian plum pudding, with brandy to flame over it? Or honeycakes, baked on the hearth?"

"I'd say, give me the first piece," Duncan said. "Maybe Richie's had a good idea for a change. This is a lot better than his brainstorm about becoming the best used-car salesman in Seacouver."

Methos opened a bottle of stout and handed it to Duncan. "Tell me what you think. It's a little bitter for my taste, but it may just need to age a few more weeks." He opened another for himself.

Duncan tried it. "I don't know. It's not bad at all, but it could use a little more mellowness, if you know what I mean."

"Has Amanda heard anything from Mariellen?"

"Not yet. She's a little worried." Duncan paused. "You know, I didn't realize before just how strong her sense of honor is."

"Because it's not that chivalry idiocy you subscribe to?" Methos shot him a sidelong glance. "Amanda has a very strong sense of honor, but it's rooted in people and relationships, not in abstractions. Just think about all the times she's helped you with things. She even gave up her trade for you, and she was the finest thief in the world, because she saw it as a point of honor." He put down the bottle and shook his head. "Sometimes, MacLeod, you are so blind I think I should hire you a seeing-eye dog."

"You're right." Duncan's mouth curved into a smile. "Now I know how Richie feels about someone older always being right."

***

Sharlene stopped by the dojo later that day, while Duncan was teaching a class in basic self-defense to a group of local women.

"Come on, come at me. You're not going to hurt me, don't worry. Just take a swing." The woman, who still looked hesitant after all his encouragement, took a small swing at him. A dozen other women stood around the mat, calling encouragement to her. "You can do better than that. Imagine I'm your ex-husband." An evil grin crossed her face and she belted him in the breadbasket, knocking all the air out of him. "Th-th-at's ve-ry good, Mrs. Jackson. All of you women, remember -- you can let your anger energize you in situations like this, but don't let it take over and make you careless." He looked up and saw Sharlene. "Why don't you practice the throws and break-holds we've covered for a few minutes?"

He was still catching his breath a little when he reached Sharlene. "It's good to see you. How are things going?"

"Not so great. Can I talk to you, privately?" She gestured toward his office.

Once they were in the office, and the door closed, he asked, "What's the matter? Is Richie in trouble of some kind?" He sat on the edge of the desk, offering her the more comfortable of the two chairs.

She sat down and shook her head, her expression tense. "No, not this time. I am. I've been laid off from my research job at the university -- they decided I 'didn't really need the money' and gave it to someone who needed it more. The problem is, I really do need the money; I've got rent and bills and I'm still paying for moving costs."

"I can give you a loan, no problem." Duncan reached toward the desk drawer where he kept the checkbooks, until he saw her shake her head.

"Thanks but no. That's not what I'm asking for." She looked up at him. "I'd like to take you up on your offer of letting me teach here. It would help me get by for a while."

Duncan nodded. "How about the basic or intermediate katana classes? We could team-teach the advanced class and the independent students. What else do you know well enough to teach it?"

She thought a moment. "How about an advanced self-defense course, the kind of dirty fighting you don't get unless you've lived in a rough area? I walked through some of the rougher parts of Yokohama and Edo for years, where they aren't friendly to gaijin. I'm certified in kendo and aikido, and I know a few other things that aren't always taught to foreigners."

"Can you teach tai chi? We've had some requests for an early-morning class."

"Yang, wu, chen or sun style?"

"Yang. How about we start with the intermediate katana class, and the morning tai chi -- probably the shorter or medium forms -- and then see what will happen from there?" Duncan smiled at her. "It's not such a problem. You know, I was hoping to find someone else to help teach here; I like teaching but I don't want people to think that my way of doing things is the only way."

"Thanks. I really appreciate it, Duncan." Sharlene's shoulders started to loosen. "How long have you been teaching women's self defense? That looks like an interesting class."

"Not too long. A friend of mine suggested it -- Dr. Anne Lindsey, she works in ER at the hospital. She said a lot of women who were coming to Emergency after abuse from the men in their lives wanted to know how to defend themselves, and she talked me into teaching it." Duncan looked at Sharlene speculatively. "Would you have time to help me finish this class with a bang?"

Sharlene grinned. "Sure. How hard do you want me to throw you?"

"Try not to kill me. Wait a minute, I almost forgot something." He pulled out his checkbook and scribbled something, then tore out the check and handed it to her. "This is an advance on your first paycheck -- it's not a loan. Pay your bills, and don't worry. If you need more, we'll add another class or figure out something else you can do."

Sharlene tucked the check away in her wallet and stowed the wallet back in the backpack. "Richie was right, you do think of everything."

"Experience," he told her. "You can thank me by throwing me around the room for these ladies for a while."

"Women, Duncan, not ladies."

"Yes, sensei." He grinned at her, and she ventured a grin back at him.

As they walked back into the main room, the women who had been grappling with each other let go and looked at them inquisitively.

"This is Sharlene Olson. She's going to be offering an advanced self-defense class here for women, if any of you are interested. For now, she's going to show you a few ways to throw someone else's weight around." Duncan glanced at Sharlene. "Whenever you're ready."

Sharlene walked to the center of the mat. "I'm going to leave my coat and backpack on, just so you know you don't have to be in exercise clothes to do this." An appreciative ripple moved through the class. "Duncan, let's try three kinds of approaches -- from the front, from the side and from the back, in that order."

Duncan walked toward Sharlene, looking as menacing as he could manage in a room of giggling women, and tried to grab her by the shoulders. She ducked under his arm while keeping hold of his hand, and pushed him onward; he landed face-down on the mat.

"That's one way. He obviously wanted to go in this direction, so I helped him a little," Sharlene explained. The two of them demonstrated the hold a couple of times for the class. Then they moved on to the side and back approaches, both of which also resulted in Duncan lying on the mat suddenly in various positions.

"All right, we have time for just one more. Do you want to do one all-out defense against a really mean mugger?" Duncan was enjoying this; the women in the class were seeing that size really didn't matter. Sharlene's size emphasized this; her head barely reached his shoulder.

Sharlene nodded. "Whenever you're ready."

Duncan put on his most menacing face. He moved toward her as quickly as possible, trying to get her onto the floor underneath himself the way a rapist would. The moment he laid a hand on her she kneed him in the balls, threw her elbow energetically into his solar plexis, and moved in to get him off balance. He tried to recover by putting out a leg to trip her and by grabbing her arm. It didn't work. She moved past him, got him off-balance and threw him to the ground, hard. He curled up in unfeigned discomfort. As he looked up at her he saw her hands ready to break his adam's apple if he moved. He didn't move.

The women around them applauded. "You see? You have leverage on your side, along with surprise and intention." Sharlene backed off, relaxed and stood up. "I hope to see you in my advanced class later on."

"Can I get up now?" Duncan asked meekly. Sharlene held a hand out to help him up.

"How was that?"

"Any more authenticity, and I'd be seeing Anne in Emergency. You're good. When can you start?"

"Tomorrow. Monday. Whenever you like."

Duncan caught his breath with a small gasp. She really had knocked some of the stuffing out of him. It was a very good thing he was Immortal if he was going to be working with her.

"Let's see. Today is Thursday. How about if you come by tomorrow and I'll give you a complete tour of the place, everything you need to know. I can phone the people who've said they're interested in tai chi and that class can start Monday morning. We can phase the other classes in over the next week. You let me know if I'm scheduling too much for you or if you want to do something different." He looked at her speculatively. "One more thing. What do you want me to call you?"

"You could call me Sharlie." Her candid eyes surveyed him thoughtfully. "You can call me any name that works for you except Red, Firetop, or anything like that. I had too much of that in Japan."

"OK, Sharlie."

She held out her hand, which Duncan shook. "Thank you, Duncan. See you tomorrow."

Sharlie left with a much happier face than when she came in, Duncan noticed. He decided to do a bit more weightlifting and run another mile or two before he saw her again; he was going to have to be in very good shape to work with someone who could deck him so easily.

***

Amanda and Millie sat in a cafe near Amanda's office, going over the details of the Thanksgiving dinner that was now less than a week away.

"I think we're pretty much set for food and drinks." Amanda chewed the end of her pencil and made a face at it. "Enh. These things just don't taste as good as they used to. Can you think of anything we've forgotten?"

"After-dinner entertainment? I was thinking that we could borrow a bunch of movies from the video store, if we get there soon enough." Since she became a stuntwoman, Millie had discovered she liked to watch action-adventure movies, the sillier the better.

"That might be fun. Duncan has a good stereo system too, or should I call it a CD system these days? We could put on some music and roll back the rugs and dance. Just think, you and I could show the younger ones a few dances they've never seen."

Millie grinned. "Are you sure they're ready for a full Morris dance, complete with the antlers of Irish elk? You might better stick to galliards and pavanes; for that crowd, those are ancient enough."

"I suppose so, though there's nothing wrong with a schottisch or mazurka now and then." Amanda sipped her cappucino. "Millie, I'd really like to get to know your sister better, but I'm scared to try because I don't want her to get hurt. It's driving me mad. What can I do?"

Millie pushed her sleeves back and checked her watch. "You know, I really should be getting back to the set."

Amanda put a hand on her arm. "Please, Millie, I'm serious. How can I thank her without upsetting or offending her -- or putting her in danger?"

Millie, who had stood up to go, looked down at Amanda. "It will be all right, really. Don't worry." She leaned over to hug her longtime friend. "Let her figure out what to do. And remember, she takes her 'cover persona' far more seriously than Adam Pierson does."

"Like a split personality, but not a psychotic one? Hmmm. Thanks." Amanda called after her. "Break a leg."

"I sure hope not. Did that last week." Millie waved a hand and left the cafe.

***

Joe was behind the bar in the empty club when she walked in and the light behind her lit her hair up like fire. He couldn't have missed that beautiful red hair even if he'd wanted to, and he was frankly staring by the time she reached the bar.

"I'm looking for Joe Dawson," she said. She set her backpack down on a barstool and put her foot up on the railing.

"You've found him. And you are --"

"Sharlene Olson, and we've got a problem." She rolled up her left sleeve and brought something that looked like a small scanner out of her pocket. When she aimed the scanner at her arm, the Watcher tattoo showed clearly on the inside of her wrist.

"Neat. I like that new UV tattoo," Joe said. "I take it this is official business, then. Can I get you something to drink while we discuss it?"

She shook her head. "Just coffee, thanks. I don't have that much time right now; I've got a basic katana class at DeSalvo's Dojo in forty minutes."

"You're MacLeod's new teacher, then." Joe's eyebrows rose, and he nodded, acknowledging her status. "What's the problem?" He poured her the coffee from the pot under the bar and pushed the cream and sugar toward her.

"I'm supposed to be Richie Ryan's Watcher, but as it's turning out I'm his girlfriend. I need a change of assignment." She grinned ruefully. "I was walking a friend's dogs -- which is an excellent excuse for snooping -- and following Richie to where he practices in the old warehouse, and he caught me watching. I had to get out of it somehow, so I told him I also did swordfighting and he invited me to spar with him. It sort of went on from there."

"I can guess," Joe said. "He's a good kid, and he's had a rough time the past few years. It probably didn't take much for him to fall in love with you."

"It didn't take much for me to fall in love with him either," she admitted. "He's pretty special." A faint blush appeared on her cheeks. "Now what?"

Joe scratched his beard. "I have to say this isn't a situation I'm that familiar with, but we just may have a way out. Excuse me a minute." He turned to the phone and punched in a number. "Emmy, I know it's not your shift for a few hours, but could you stop by the club right now for a few minutes? Thanks." He turned back to Sharlie. "I just phoned someone who's in a similar situation. She might be willing to swap with you." He refilled her coffee cup. "How's the rest of your life going?"

She shrugged. "A little rocky. I lost my research money at the University -- guess they thought I wasn't deserving enough -- and I'm working at the dojo to pay the bills. It's a bit awkward."

"Would you like another job as well? It could be part time for a while, but the pay would be good." Joe's voice sounded persuasive.

"Such as?" She gave him a direct look over the rim of her cup as she drank. He leaned on the bar and sipped his own coffee.

"I'm looking for a new manager for the club. The man who's been here for years is retiring and moving back east as of Thanksgiving. You'd keep track of the employees' hours, schedule bands if I didn't do it, work at the bar and fill in for me when I can't be here. If you couldn't be here all the time, we could work that out." He took a deep breath. "We do have other Watchers working here -- Adam Pierson is one of them -- and the local Immortals like to come here. You'd have to be comfortable with that. On the other hand, I like the idea of having a Watcher running things who looks a little more deceptive than usual."

"Deceptive?" She raised a dark-red eyebrow.

"Duncan was really impressed that you knocked him on his tail a couple of times and disarmed him. If you can beat MacLeod, you can definitely take care of bouncing anyone else that causes trouble."

"I won't say it was just luck," she told him, grinning. "All right. I don't mind having two jobs, and if you're willing to schedule my hours around the courses I'm teaching at the dojo, it should work out fine."

"Sharlene, I'd schedule your hours around anything you want right now. You're the answer to prayer." He shook his head ruefully. "I really wasn't looking forward to spending every waking moment here at the club."

"Especially when Duncan's getting dumped on his tail occasionally?"

"Well, I won't deny I'd like to see that." Joe grinned wickedly, and she smiled back at him.

The door opened and a small woman with long blond hair came in. Joe turned toward her with a smile as she sat down at the bar. "Mariellen, this is Sharlene Olson. Sharlene has a problem with her Watcher assignment, and I was thinking you might be able to solve it for her."

"What kind of problem?" Mariellen asked, sounding interested. She looked to be in her late 30s, and wore faded jeans and a green sweater that matched her eyes.

"It's Richie Ryan. For one thing, he caught me following him. For another, I'm falling in love with him, and this is a real problem. I don't think I can be fair as his Watcher." Sharlene leaned on the bar and sipped her coffee. "Is there any chance you could swap assignments with me?"

Mariellen drew a deep breath. "I'm assigned to Amanda Darrieux. Would you be comfortable Watching her?"

Sharlene nodded. "I think so. She's an acquaintance, but I can keep the relationship at a less intimate level than with Richie. That shouldn't be a problem." She cocked her head at Mariellen, who seemed to be considering something that made her frown. "Is there anything I should know? Amanda seems pretty settled down these days, from what I've seen."

"She is, but we can't depend on that to continue. On the other hand, I'm willing to swap responsibilities with you if our assignments take us in the opposite directions at times. If it's easier for me to take notes on Amanda if you're with Richie out of town, I can do that for a short time; I don't want to do it long-term."

"I think we can work something out."

Joe cleared his throat. "I think I can arrange to cover for one of you if I have to, and there are a few other Watchers around -- Adam Pierson for one -- who tend to float a bit. We'll work it out." His eyes twinkled. "I'm willing to stretch the rules a bit for my new assistant manager."

"Really? Congratulations," Mariellen said, shaking hands with Sharlene. "I know he's been really worried about finding someone with the right qualifications."

"I don't know anything about bookkeeping," Sharlene admitted. "Or personnel management."

"You'll pick it up. We're not that big a group; it's mainly simple math for balancing receipts, ordering supplies and setting up schedules, and I'll teach you as we go. You're more than qualified in other ways," Joe said. He turned to Mariellen. "She's already dumped Duncan MacLeod on his ass more than once."

"If I'd realized this would be such a great event, I would've sold tickets," Sharlene remarked ruefully.

"Don't worry about it," Mariellen said. "It's good to have someone who can take care of herself in charge here, someone Old Worry Wart here won't fuss about."

"Hey, I resemble that remark," Joe said, with a smile that lit up the empty room.

***

"So? Do we have to behave ourselves?" Duncan asked Richie, as they took a break from sparring in the dojo. It was two days before Thanksgiving. "Or did you spill the beans about Immortals?"

Richie mopped his face with the towel that hung around his neck. "Actually, she didn't spill them at all; Adam did. He tipped me off that I might see something interesting if I was dancing with Sharlie near the blacklight at the side of Joe's dance floor. So I did, and I saw a Watcher tattoo on her wrist."

"And?"

"I asked her how long she'd been a Watcher, and after a while she said it was a few years. She wouldn't tell me who she's assigned to, but she did say it wasn't me, so that's all right."

"Are you sure? The Watchers were pretty rough on Joe a few years ago just because he and I were friends."

"I know." Richie's face was solemn. "I don't want anything to happen to her either. I asked her about that, and she said she'd talked to Joe, and he'd gotten the okay from the regional boss for having Watchers and Immortals associating with each other as long as it was just in this area. She doesn't seem worried."

"Well, it's not like she's trying to avoid us, what with working in the dojo and all," Duncan admitted. "This might work out really well; it could show the Watcher Central that they don't have to be afraid of us."

"Especially when she can dump you on your butt, right, Mac?"

Duncan groaned and got up from the bench. "Let's see you try to do it, tough guy."

"Any time."

They moved back out into the middle of the mat, and Duncan started to play the aggressor, moving in suddenly and launching swirling kicks. Richie dodged the kicks, ducked under Duncan's outstretched arm and dumped him onto the mat, knocking the wind out of the surprised Scotsman.

"I've been taking lessons," Richie said.

"Something tells me I'm in trouble," Duncan muttered.

***

It was a feast beyond Richie's wildest expectations. He'd been disappointed when Sharlie wouldn't let him bring his hotdog casserole, but she told him it just wouldn't blend with the other dishes and he had to agree -- it was a one-of-a-kind creation. So he listened to her ideas as he chopped and arranged vegetables, and came up with salads he'd seen before only in expensive restaurants.

"You mean that's all there is to it?" He was amazed. No secret ingredients, just very fresh ones arranged carefully.

"That's all there is to it. That, and my special salad dressing." Sharlie showed him how to make a good classic vinaigrette with three variations, and he decided to bring all of them along to the party.

The appetizers she was making looked scrumptious. She'd wrapped bacon around scallops and chicken livers around water chestnuts, and stacked slivers of smoked salmon and exotic cheeses on crackers. She'd even made sushi rolls with the rest of the smoked salmon and cucumber, and he'd had to admit they weren't bad at all.

When they arrived at MacLeod's, the fragrance alone drew Richie toward the second floor. He didn't have any idea what he was smelling, but he knew right away that it would taste wonderful.

They emerged from the elevator to find Amanda bringing a large stuffed bird out of the oven, Duncan cooking something on top of it, and Joe waiting for the oven so his casserole could stay warm. Mariellen, Joe's friend, had apparently brought homemade bread; it lay in large wicker baskets on the table, wrapped in towels to keep it hot. She sat next to Joe on the couch, both of them sipping wine.

"What is that thing, Amanda, a dodo?" Richie asked.

"Have a little respect for the dead, please. This is a wild turkey, a real one -- I have my sources. I thought some traditional food would be welcome, so I stuffed it with chestnuts and mushrooms, and a few wild herbs." She gave him a wicked grin. "It's a family recipe."

"Whose family? I hope it wasn't the Borgias," Duncan commented as he juggled pots and dishes and worked around Amanda.

"Now, Duncan, I never met the Borgias. No, this was one of Rebecca's favorites, except she stuffed smaller birds like partridges and ducks. I'd rather deal with one bird than eight, so we're having turkey instead of partridge."

"It sure smells good to me," Joe commented. "Can you put my casserole in for a few minutes? I just want to make sure it didn't get too cold in the car coming over here. It's on the counter next to the sweet potatoes."

"No problem. Richie, would you put the salads over on the table there and give me a hand with this? It's getting a little heavy to hold."

"Sure thing, Amanda. Oof! You sure there aren't a few bricks in this stuffing?"

"Complaining? You need to do more weight-lifting." Duncan tossed a grin over his shoulder. "We've got this wonderful new teacher at the dojo, who'll get you in shape really fast."

"Oh, could that be anyone like the wonderful new assistant manager I've got over at the club?" Joe wore his cat-digesting-delicious- canary smile.

Richie nearly dropped the bird. He wrestled it up to the counter for Amanda to deal with. "You took the job, Sharlie? Fantastic. Does that mean I get free drinks now?"

"You'd have to talk to my boss about that, I think." Sharlie winked at Joe. "I'm only the assistant manager."

"And bouncer, and emergency short-order cook, and whatever else comes up." Joe looked very happy. "I closed the club today so that everyone could have a day off; we'll open tomorrow night with this great new group from Canada that I've heard, the Jim Byrnes Band. They'll be here for two weekends, so if people miss them this time they can catch them later."

The elevator noise interrupted Joe's description of how he'd gone to Vancouver to hear the new band, and how impressed he'd been. Methos and Millie walked in, Millie carrying a case of beer as if it were a six-pack of soda, and Methos cradling a bowl of something in one arm and a bottle of something else in the other.

"Sorry to be late, everyone. Millie was driving and it took a little longer." Methos tenderly set the bowl, which seemed to be filled with something delicate, on the counter and put the bottle down next to it. "Amanda, I'll need to finish cooking this as soon as we're done eating."

Amanda leaned over to sniff the bowl, and her eyes went wide. "Honeycakes? Oh, Adam, I haven't had those in years."

"I thought we should hallow Duncan's new fireplace in style, with honeycakes for everyone." Adam handed her a bottle of Napoleon brandy. "And we can flame them if we want, or just drink it along with them." He smiled at Millie across the counter. "It seems we had the same old family recipe, so I tried them at Millie's place last week and they worked just as I remembered."

Millie walked over to where Mariellen sat, and leaned down to hug her. "It's good to see you again. How have you been?" she said. Mariellen moved over to make room beside herself, and the two women started to catch up on the latest news. Joe got to his feet and moved over to stand near Duncan and see what the Scotsman was doing at the stove.

"Just tell me that's not a haggis," he pleaded.

"It's not a haggis, Joe. Haggi are round. These are Cumberland sausages. Trust me," Duncan promised, "if you don't like them I'll buy you a plane ticket to Scotland and you can find something better that you'd like."

"I know that ploy. You just want to get away without a Watcher for a while," Joe retorted. "Methos, you won't believe who I found to play at the club this weekend and next -- the Jim Byrnes Band."

"Those guys are really good," Methos said, his face awed. "They've got quite a following, too -- even if the locals don't turn out, you shouldn't have any trouble filling the house. Don't forget to save space for me, all right?"

"Well, you could work those nights -- you'd be sure to hear them that way. But maybe you should talk to my new assitant manager about that." Joe nodded toward Sharlene, who was helping Richie arrange food buffet-style on the long side table.

"Did you bring your guitar, Joe? I'd really like to hear some of your new songs, if you did." Millie broke from her quiet conversation with Mariellen to look up at him. "I miss good music. All they play at work is sound effects."

"After dinner we can have movies, music or whatever we want," Amanda said firmly, "but for now, let's eat."

More than an hour later, when everyone had had firsts and seconds, and the roaring fire had become glowing coals, Methos sat on the hearth, shaped individual honeycakes with his fingers and baked them on a flat stone he'd brought with him. He passed the freshly baked cakes around to everyone, and they disappeared too quickly for anyone to flame them.

"This is very good. I'll have to see what other recipes you've been hiding." Amanda poured herself a snifter of brandy.

"Oh, he's full of surprises," Millie said, with a smile at Methos. His narrow, humorous face took on an expression of great tenderness as he looked at her. "I think it's time to break out the after- dinner beer, don't you?" She picked up a tray from the sideboard and filled it with bottles from the case and the fridge, so that those who liked their beer warm could have it that way.

"Weren't we going to find out something about Duncan's new hobby? Isn't that what you said, Joe?" Mariellen turned innocent eyes on Duncan; Richie could see a faint blush coming up on Duncan's face.

"Yeah, what is it, Mac? More whiskey? Model airplanes? Authentic reproduction armor in miniature?" Richie teased.

"All right, but you'll have to close your eyes, all of you, while I get it out. I want it to be a surprise." Duncan got up from his chair, making sure everyone's eyes really were closed, and went to the standing cupboard in his bedroom. "Amanda, don't peek."

"I'm not peeking."

He picked up his instrument, settled it comfortably in his arms, took a deep breath, and launched himself into "Scotland the Brave."

Almost everyone jumped, Joe being the exception. Richie's eyes popped open and he grinned. Amanda looked surprised; she leaned forward toward him to listen more closely. Joe's face wore a wicked grin. Sharlene cocked her head as she watched Duncan; a man who would play bagpipes in public might be even more unpredictable the next time she faced him in the dojo.

Duncan managed to finish the whole piece without a wrong note. He took a bow to thunderous applause, and put his Highland bagpipes aside.

"I don't believe it," Methos said, "you've found a live haggis and you're torturing it."

"Don't be silly, Methos. It sounds fine to me," Millie said. "With a little practice you could be playing the Ceol Mor as well as the piper for the little Stuart princess ever did."

"That's praise indeed," Duncan said. "I've heard he was wonderful. He was a little before my time."

"I have to say, Duncan, you're doing a fine job with it. Keep it up," Joe said, "and we'll have to have you over for new song night at the club."

"Only if you want to empty it really quickly. Amanda, what do you think of it?" Richie looked at her sidelong; he knew whatever she said would matter most to Duncan.

Amanda's eyes, luminous and dark, were on Duncan's face. "I think bagpipes are very ... stimulating. Duncan, do you think you could play them again for me later?"

"Oh, come on, Amanda, is there anything you don't find stimulating?" Richie couldn't believe it.

She batted long eyelashes at him. "If you really want to know, we can discuss it in detail some time." He started to stammer a disclaimer.

Duncan cut in with a bow to Amanda, and a kiss for her hand. "My lady, any time you wish to hear the great pipes, you have only to ask. For now, though, I think we'd all rather hear Joe's latest songs, don't you?" He walked toward the kitchen. "Does anyone want coffee, brandy, more beer?"

The group reorganized itself around the drinks as Joe brought out his acoustic guitar and tuned it. In the middle of the movement Amanda somehow ended up next to Mariellen.

"You know, I've wanted to thank you for a long time for what you did when Kundry was here." Amanda said quietly. "I don't want to cause a problem for you -- I know you're a Watcher, and things can be difficult -- but I really would like to get to know you better, if you don't mind." She drew a deep breath; it wasn't often that she felt so uncertain of her reception. "You don't have to say yes if it will put you in danger. But I would like you to have this, as a token of my appreciation." She handed Mariellen a small box; when Mariellen opened it she saw a bronze cloakpin in the ancient Celtic style, with interlaced birds decorating it.

Mariellen looked up at Amanda. Amanda looked hesitant, as if she'd done the wrong thing. Mariellen closed the box and put her hands over Amanda's hands. Amanda saw her eyes glow a darker green.

"You have nothing to thank me for; I defended Adam that night." Mariellen's voice was vibrant, deeper, the voice of Milia of DunLaoghaire from the bridge. "And I think my sister is thanking him enough for both of you," she added with a smile.

"You were a friend I didn't expect, and this is a debt of honor." Amanda's voice trembled. "You had no reason to step between me and Kundry, but you did, even before she attacked Adam. I'm very grateful." She smiled, and the serious Amanda was gone. "Would you like to go shopping one of these days?"

"I'd love it, actually. I haven't kept up with the latest styles, and most of my clothes are far too old-fashioned. When I find something I like, I wear it until it wears out; in fact, this pin would look wonderful on my blue cloak, and I don't dare tell you how old that is." Mariellen put the small box in her pocket and patted it. "But right now I'd like something to drink."

"Would you like some brandy? Duncan's coffee is terrible these days, unless he's managed to fix his coffeemaker."

"I fixed it," Richie said, at Amanda's elbow. "It's good coffee now. Would you like some?"

"All right," Mariellen said. She smiled at Richie and Amanda as they brought their drinks back to their seats and waited for Joe to begin singing.

***

"That was a good party," Joe said as he and Mariellen drove back to his house. "I haven't been at such a gathering in a long time."

"Maybe we could do it more often," Mariellen suggested, "now that I'm Watching Richie and Sharlie is Watching Amanda. By the way, I'm very glad Watcher Central has come up with these new invisible tattoos. I like the idea that it can only be seen under blacklight."

"I thought all ancient peoples wore tattoos."

"Some did; I think Millie still has a couple. They tend to fade over time on mortals, and on us they simply go away whenever we go through a Quickening."

Joe cleared his throat. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you, Emmy. I've been wondering if you'd consider moving in with me." There, it was finally said. He kept his eyes on the road, anticipating her response with anxiety.

"It's a great honor you do me, Joseph, but I'm afraid I will have to say no," Emmy said in Milia's voice. "Your house isn't that big; I don't think there'd be room for me and my things in it without seriously disturbing your way of life."

"I could make some changes --"

"Love, it's not that you're set in your ways, but I'm set in mine. We'd need a lot more space than you have."

His heart sank.

"That's why I bought the house next door. Would you mind having me for a neighbor?"

He nearly drove the car into the other lane; it was a good thing the police were on break. "The house next door? You'd be only five steps away? I don't think I'd mind that a bit."

"In that case, would you like to spend the night at my new home and make it holy with some ancient rites that you know how to do very well?" Her eyes twinkled when he looked across at her, and he laughed out loud. "I had the movers come yesterday while you were at the club. I would be honored to have you as my first houseguest."

"Now, that's something to give thanks for."


End file.
